We Are The Dead
by quietbang
Summary: In Section Z, subsection 772, there is a room.    No major characters were harmed in the making of this fic.


**A/N "In Flanders' Fields" is a famous poem of the First World War written by Canadian John McCrae. Stargate:Atlantis belongs to MGM.**

**Yes, this poem is incredibly seasonally inappropriate, but I was inspired by a flag that sits on the bulletin board of my school. It's the only flag you'll ever see with poppies on it, one for every Canadian soldier killed in action. At this point, you can't even see the flag- all you can see are poppies. So, that imagery led me to write this fic. No major characters were killed in the making of this fic. **

_In Flanders' Fields_

_The poppies grow_

_Between the crosses_

_Row, upon row_

_That mark our place,_

_While in the sky,_

_The larks, still bravely singing, fly_

_Scarce heard amid the guns below. _

In Section Z, subsection 772, there is a room.

It's not a big room. On Earth, Rodney had known people who had bigger closets.

For it's purposes, though, it was large enough.

The door had a small Canadian flag tacked to it's upper right corner. Rodney guessed Chuck was to blame, for that one.

Inside, glorious golden light streamed in, and the faint hiss of ocean spray could be heard.

At the front, there was a table.

_We are the Dead._

_Short days ago, _

_we lived_

_Felt dawn, saw sunset's glow_

_Loved, and were loved,_

_And now we lie_

_In Flanders' fields. _

On the table there are objects.

A flute- Dr. Ringrose, biologist, killed in action on PZX 221.

A paperback novel:W.O Mitchell, _Who Has Seen the Wind- _Lieutenant Charles; Métis boy from Saskatchewan, laugh like a braying horse.

A photograph: Algonquin Park, 2002- Dr. Thibodaux. A coal miner's daughter from Sault Ste. Marie, she was laughing in the son with her three younger sisters.

A regimental patch- Sgt. Lacroix, _16e brigade mechanis_é_e- _A Vandoo through and through, he died at 22, leaving behind two young sons and a wife out of her head with grief.

A crucifix- Pt. McCormick, good Nova Scotia farm stock. He'd wanted to be a Naval officer, but had been turned down from the Royal Military College on account of his marks. He'd enlisted instead, and survived two tours in an alien desert only to die by a truly alien ocean.

A book of poems- Dr. Stirling, archaeologist, lover of Kipling and an only child. Her parents home in Fort McMurray would never see the body.

A nearly completed book of sudoku- Pt. O'Malley, a charming redhead with a thick Newfoundlander accent. 20 years old, he'd died looking 90.

A pocket knife- Lieutenant Blackstone, and Inuit from Nunavut who joined the air force because he wanted to see the stars. He died in the city, on the third night of the siege.

Rodney carefully set down the object in his hand, and resisted the urge to flee.

A potted plant fro PZ-whatever. Dr. Stosius, the only remaining Canadian botanist, would take care of it.

Dr. Delacourt, xenobotanist. Self inflicted gunshot would from a Browning MK1 she hadn't wanted to carry. McKay had appealed to her guilty conscience.

"Are you really that stupid? Wait- no, don't answer that. Of course you are. What I mean is, are you really that selfish, you stupid woman? How will you feel if you're attacked off world and your team dies because of your idiotic political views? You will carry a firearm. That's not a request, that's an order."1

A month later, SGA-11was caught in a culling. Major Lewis (AUS) and Lieutenant Smith (UK) had both died in battle, and Dr Sayer (NZ) was in hospital, 25 years of life drained away.

Susan Delacourt was found in her quarters by her girlfriend.

Sgt. Stévalier (FR) was still in shock.

Feeling drained, and having spent enough time with ghosts, Rodney turned to leave. As he did so, his eye was caught by a card tacked to the wall, beneath a blood-red flag lain with poppies.

_Take up our quarrel with the Foe._

_To you, from failing hands we throw_

_-the Torch- be yours to hold it high_

_For if Yes break faith with us who die_

_We shall not sleep_

_Though poppies grow_

_In Flanders' Fields._

* * *

><p>1 He'd felt the barest twinge of guilt as he did so, wondering how the Rodney of five years ago would have reacted to being given the same order. His gun had become part of him. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.<p>

**A/N Please review, and tell me what you think. I can't improve if you don't help. :)**


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